


Broken Clockwork

by Cynthia_of_the_Wallflowers



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Abusive Dursley Family, Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Twins, Character Bashing, Dumbledore Bashing, Gen, Hermione Bashing, Molly Weasley Bashing, Ravenclaw Harry, Ron Bashing, Sirius Bashing, Wrong Boy-Who-Lived
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2017-05-05
Packaged: 2018-02-07 03:18:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 10,111
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1883106
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Cynthia_of_the_Wallflowers/pseuds/Cynthia_of_the_Wallflowers
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sometimes too far is too far, and Harry is tired of being the scapegoat. They can all go burn and die for all he cares, because this time, he’s not going to save them. DISCONTINUED.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter or anything in it.
> 
> This (and all my other works) is also posted on fanfiction.net (https://www.fanfiction.net/s/10340119/1/Broken-Clockwork).

            Hadrian James Potter had never been a normal boy. Some would even go as far to call him freakish. And it was true.  


            It wasn’t just the fact that he was a wizard ― a honest-to-god magic-wielding wizard.  


            It wasn’t the fact that he could talk to and control almost any reptile he put a mind to (though it worked particularly well on snakes).

            It wasn’t even the fact that he could remember anything and everything he laid eyes upon, from the moment of his birth to the present, and not even a memory charm could wipe it (a fact he had become aware of in his second year of Hogwarts, when he had confronted his Defense teacher about the inconsistencies in his books and promptly gotten an Obliviate for his troubles).

            No, it was his unfortunate tendency to attract trouble, defeat said trouble, and then have the credit taken by a worthless wimp, while receiving some sort of unfair misfortune that, in his opinion, made him so unusual. Seriously, whose luck worked like that?

            Defeating Voldemort in at the age of one: credit taken by his useless twin who had done nothing more than sit there and cry because of the scar left by their mother’s wand when it had flew out of her hand as she had collapsed. Harry was sent to the magic-hating Dursleys while his oh-so-beloved brother was given to his godmother, who, by all rights, should have taken him in too.  


            Saving the Philosopher’s Stone from Quirrell: credit taken by Daniel bloody Potter, the so-called Boy-Who-Lived, who had gotten to the mirror room nearly an hour after he had defeated Quirrell, covered him with his invisibility cloak (after finding out that it would burn him if he tried to steal it), and promptly left him and told Dumbledore (the fool) that he had been the one to defeat Quirrell. Harry had woken up almost two days later (he thanked and cursed the fact that there had been no classes, as it was after the end-of-term tests, and he had no friends, so no one had noticed him missing), aching and sore, and gone down after a nice bath to find that Gryffindor had stolen the House Cup from Ravenclaw due to Dumbledore's unjustly awarded points for the rescue the brat had not actually accomplished. 

            Stopping the petrifications: credit taken _again_ by the useless twin he was seriously considering disowning, who had eavesdropped on him when he had confronted Ginerva Weasley (who Luna, his newfound friend, had assured him was acting quite oddly that year, even taking into account the symptoms of homesickness) in the Myrtle’s bathroom and stunned him from behind (like a bloody _coward_ ) after he had destroyed the diary that had been possessing her with Gryffindor’s sword that Fawkes and the Sorting Hat had given him. Harry had woken up on the cold tile floor hours later to find a wailing Myrtle explaining how “the lying arse” had dragged Weasley out of the bathroom, woken her up in some abandoned dungeon (giving her the impression that he had rescued her) and taken her, the sword, and the Hat (though, according to Myrtle’s gleeful smirk, Fawkes had refused to let him touch him and had disappeared in a flash of fire, leaving the bastard with a face full of soot) up to the old coot's office before proceeding to feed him some cock-and-bull story about how he had bravely set out to rescue Weasley alone after his friend, Ronald Weasley, had been accidentally knocked out by that incompetent, Lockhart, and how _he_ had heroically rescued Weasley and defeated Slytherin’s monster (“a giant snake” were his exact words ― Harry had snorted; he had known it was a basilisk months ago; he was surprised it had taken Granger so long to figure out) and the evil spirit possessing Weasley with the sword that he had bravely pulled from the Hat. And later, Gryffindor had stolen the House Cup _again_ ( _more_ last minute points), _and_ he had been given detention for attempting to “slander” a celebrity (Potter) by “spreading rumors” through an “already distressed ghost” (Myrtle). The only consolation had been that he had at least not been blamed for Lockhart’s memory loss.  


            The year after that had, believe it or not, been the worst. He had saved all of them ― them being Sirius Black, Snape, and, as he had dubbed them, the Idiot Trio (because while Granger was good at academics, she really wasn’t all that bright about real life, and Weasley and Potter weren't even worth mentioning for either) ― from an idiotic werewolf who really should have known better than to forget his Wolfsbane, driven off a hoard of Dementors (who, by the way, affected him a lot more than the others, seeing as he had an eidetic memory and his life was practically _made_ of bad experiences), and prevented the escape of one Peter Pettigrew. He had single-handedly ensured that Sirius Black would receive a fair trial with the new evidence brought to light instead of being swept under the rug, and that Lupin would not face any charges for putting students in danger (aiding Sirius Black was, at the time, a crime after all, not to mention running loose on the school grounds without his Wolfsbane), though he hadn’t been able to do anything about his job. He had even gone through the trouble of buying Buckbeak off Hagrid and clearing him from all charges as a backup in case Sirius really was convicted. And who got all the credit? _Danny. Effing. Potter._  


            It was like clockwork. Did luck even work that way?  


            And how could they have believed that the other Potter had done all those things? They didn’t even _look_ alike ― how could anyone mistake them for each other? 

            How hard could it be to tell the difference between Potter's neat, red hair and his messy, black hair? His squinty, hazel eyes and Harry's large, emerald eyes? His large, bulky body and his thin, scrawny body? Even if it was dark, it shouldn’t have been hard to spot Potter’s flaming red hair sprawled on the ground, the owner of said hair being as useless as always. 

            He had been so hopeful too. He had even gotten all the adoption papers drawn up. _Anyone_ was better than the Dursleys, even a man who had abandoned him to chase after a rat, and not even acknowledged his part in his exculpation. But then, he had had all his hopes shattered with a single word, spoken by the black-haired, grey-eyed man when confronted in a quiet corner about Hadrian James Potter. 

            “Who?" 

            He didn’t even remember who he was. His own godson. Harry had hidden his sob behind a long-perfected mask, with the expertise of years of practice, of years of betrayal, of years of crushed hopes and broken dreams. And he had turned away. 

            “I apologize. I must have the wrong person.” 

            And now, sitting at the very edge of the Ravenclaw’s table, he vowed that this time, he wouldn’t get involved. This time, he wouldn’t let them take the credit. _This time_ , they could solve their bloody problems by themselves. 

            And, as if the universe was answering him, the Goblet flared crimson for the fourth and final time. 

            “Daniel Potter.” 

            Harry looked over at the paling boy without a glimmer of pity. He watched him glance up at the unreadable headmaster and around at all of the stony faces. He watched the other Potter, who had made his life so miserable, _look over_ , _as if he expected him to save him_ , and sneered as the coward flinched back at the ice that stared back. He watched in satisfaction as the boy made his way up the dais and down the antechamber, his back slumping ever so slightly as he went. 

            This time, they could bloody well deal with their own problems. He wasn’t going to help them. Not this time. 

            And beside him, Luna smiled.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's summer vacation and I've had an influx of random ideas that I'll likely never actually finish. But I got this done and I'm even working on a 3rd chapter with a lot more dialogue and actual interaction between characters. :) This chapter's not as interesting or eventful as the previous chapter but I think this would be a logical next step for Harry to take so bear with me.

            It hadn’t taken long for Harry to start planning again after Black had more or less rejected him. Adoption was nice of course, but when he had been looking for ways to legally never return to the Dursleys, after Dumbledore had completely brushed off his attempts to tell him of his home life with a self-assured, grandfatherly, “I’m sure your childish fight will have been forgotten by the time you return. They are your family after all! They love you very much" and Flitwick and McGonagall had more or less followed his example, his research had turned up another ― a _better_ ― option.

            Emancipation.

            At the time ― nearing the end of his first year ― he had not been able to file for it, because a magical child had to be minimally thirteen to attempt so. The only other option had been for Molly Weasley, his secondary godmother ― as Alice Longbottom, his primary godmother, was incapacitated, Sirius Black, his primary godfather, was incarcerated, and Remus Lupin, his secondary godfather, was a werewolf and forbidden by law to adopt ― to adopt him. And he would rather live on the streets (not that Dumbledore would let him and Harry knew it was best not to draw his attention for the moment) than live with _her_ , seeing as she had rejected him ten years previously, claiming she had too many children as it was. Though, of course, she had had no trouble accepting his twin.

            (Harry had looked Potter’s godparents up too ― as it turned out, Molly Weasley was Potter’s primary godmother, Alice Longbottom his secondary, Remus Lupin his primary godfather, and Sirius Black his secondary. Apparently it was tradition for magical twins to have four godparents: a primary godmother and godfather for each twin while the other twin's godparents acted as secondaries.)

            So, seeing no other options, he had opted to wait for two more years until he was old enough to file for emancipation.

            But then that Sirius Black fiasco had happened, and his requests for the paperwork had been pushed to the wayside as the Ministry and all of its departments dropped everything and ran around like headless chickens. Which, Harry thought, made no sense because what did the Child Service offices have to contribute to the Sirius Black hunt anyway?

            And then, after all of that had been over, Harry had gotten adoption papers ― which were _much_ easier to get ahold of than emancipation papers ― all drawn up because _surely_ his godfather, a _primary_ godparent, not a secondary godparent like Molly Weasley, with no financial burdens or other responsibilities would be willing to adopt him right?

            Wrong.

            He should have expected it. When had he ever been right when it came to the good in people? Luna was an exception ― the _only_ exception ― because people disliked her too, so she was practically in the same boat that he was.

            So, after a brief period of moodiness over the rejection of yet _another_ adult who was supposed to help him, he had reverted back to Plan A.

            It wasn’t too hard getting the papers, even though they were still scrambling around doing damage control from fallout of Black’s trial, and arranging some tournament to raise publicity. In fact, it was downright easy getting it unnoticed in all the frazzled hustle and bustle.

            It wasn’t hard getting Petunia and Vernon to sign the emancipation papers either. One mention of how he would never have to set foot in their house again had them practically scrambling over each other to sign.

            No, what was hard was getting the emancipation passed without notice. Because, apparently, Dumbledore, the interfering old codger, had his nose stuck everywhere.

            “I’m sorry, my dear boy, but you are simply too young to be living alone.” Blue eyes twinkled at him over the top of his half moon spectacles. “And I’m sure your relatives would miss you dearly if you left.”

            Harry had seethed silently. What right did that meddlesome old coot have to interfere with _his_ life? With _his_ guardianship? What did _he_ know about the Dursleys anyway? _He_ wasn’t the one that had to live with them! _He_ wasn’t the one that had to put up with living in a cupboard and food only once every three days, and lashings and beatings when they were bored, and sizzling frying pans to the head if he did anything less than perfect or if he did better than that fat pig he refused to call his cousin! And if the scars on his body weren’t already proof enough, then that postscript they had written on the emancipation paper should have made it more than clear that they wanted nothing to do with him!

            But he couldn’t voice all of that. He wasn’t a blind idiot like most of the wizarding world seemed to be. He knew Dumbledore would simply wave it all off like he had done before. Dumbledore only cared for his Greater Good after all, and having poor little Harry Potter happy and well didn’t further his plans at all ― the opposite, in fact. Happy and healthy meant he would have no leverage over him, seeing as he had never taken the time to get to know Harry. No way of controlling him meant that he was an unknown, a wild card. A taboo for the power-hungry puppetmaster. No, it would better to keep him downtrodden and pliable and easily manipulated. That way, he would always be grateful to Hogwarts, as his home and sanctuary. And when he was actually needed, Dumbledore would simply pull a few strings, and swoop down and act like a savior who had just discovered the _horrid_ treatment his relatives had bestowed upon him and rushed to save him, thereby gaining his everlasting gratitude. Add in the remorseful grandfather act that Harry was sure Dumbledore was all too capable of playing, and any other abused victim would be all but tripping over themselves to dance to his tune.

            Harry had wanted so dearly to tell him he and his plans could go fuck himself, but Dumbledore clearly wasn’t going to take no for an answer, and Harry had never been in the habit of laying down all his cards on the table, especially when the opponent clearly still had some.

            So he nodded and played the part of the shy little boy who wasn’t quite sure what he had been thinking and Dumbledore had smiled benevolently with a triumphant twinkle in his eye, offering him a lemon drop before assuring him that _he had already taken care of withdrawing the paperwork_ and dismissing him from his office.

            Harry fumed. And plotted, and planned. Because the Sorting Hat had wanted to place him in Slytherin for a reason, and he wasn’t going to give up just because some meddlesome old fossil had twinkled at him and told him ‘no’. _Hadrian James Potter_ was no idiotic doormat that would just _ay down_ l and let those power-hungry madmen _trample_ all over him. He would just find another way.

            And so he did.

            The very next weekend, after securing Luna’s promise to cover for him, he had snuck out to Hogsmeade from a secret passageway in a humpbacked stone witch that he had found on one of his nighttime wanderings (being an insomniac ― courtesy of Vernon, as continuously dragging a child from his cupboard for a good beating in the middle of the night when one was unable to sleep or drunk, he had discovered, tended to leave a child often unable to sleep for fear of a meaty hand coming out of the darkness to grab him ― left him with a lot of free time to explore the huge castle). He had stolen a bit of Floo powder from Madam Rosmerta ― he _loved_ his invisibility cloak ― and borrowed Aberforth’s fireplace for a trip to Gringotts.

            It went off without a hitch; something for which he was thankful for. The goblins were surprisingly helpful as well, though that may have had something to do with the fact that once he was emancipated, the Potter vaults could be opened and the money within used to invest, putting more money in circulation, and allowing them to earn more gold. His subtle hints about the investments he was planning didn’t hurt either. For all their bloodthirsty ways, the goblins weren’t stupid ― they knew a business opportunity when they saw it. And the fact that both parties harbored a strong dislike for Albus Dumbledore ― the goblins mostly because of the amount of gold the Dumbledore family had lost from Dumbledore's foolish, non-profitable ventures some seventy years ago before he had smartened up and just stopped investing his gold whatsoever, and Harry for obvious reasons ― was just icing on the cake.

            The scars from the Dursleys were documented, filed, and the Dursleys were declared to be unfit guardians within a few hours.

            This still left the risk of leaving him, seeing as Molly Weasley and Sirius Black had already rejected him, as a ward of the state or Ministry. Luckily, a bit of digging into one of the goblins’ obscure treaties with wizards revealed a handy little law (benefiting purebloods of course) stating the heirs to a House with an absent or deceased head were allowed emancipation anytime after turning thirteen. Generally, this was only done when the heir had no willing guardian (being paid off didn't count ― which was unnaturally clever of them. Typical of the government to be unusually strict and thorough when it came to their own interests) and no person they trusted enough to designate as a temporary representative. This law had been allowed to prevent heirs and their houses from losing their family names and fortunes and to placate the goblins, who had lost several vaults of gold because some bumbling politician had taken all of a ward’s gold for a campaign of some sort.

            Harry ― and he had never been so grateful that at least one thing in his life had gone right, even if it was just the mere fact that he, and not his twin, had been born first (and who knew what kind of state of the Potter family would be in a few years had Potter been born first) ― had no qualms taking full advantage of this law. And, best of all, all of the paperwork was filed at Gringotts and Gringotts only, so Dumbledore would never even get a whiff of it.

            As further insurance, he had the Dursleys disowned from the family line. Apparently, even underage heirs ― not that he was one anymore ― were allowed to disown family members if said members were muggles and/or squibs. Now, Dumbledore could not claim that he had to stay with them, as they were _family_ ― disowned members didn’t count as family.

            Harry had turned over the idea of disowning his twin as well. He had more than enough justification after all, even if he had no way to prove it. Not that a head of house really needed to have justification to disown anyone anyway ― it was just advised as so the head wouldn't look oppressive or insane.

            But he had decided against in the end. It was better to keep him under the mantle of the Potter house for now, even if that meant he would be somewhat obligated to look out for him ― or, at least, deposit a small allowance in his personal vault every month. As his head of house, Potter would be obligated to obey him to a certain degree. And it wasn’t as if Potter had any chance of taking the family headship from him anyway, unless Harry was incapacitated or Potter challenged him to a duel and won ― and Harry never had any intention of losing to someone like _him_. And even in those cases, it would be a toss up to see if the family ring thought him worthy enough to wear it (he doubted it).

            It never hurt to have insurance though, he thought as he filled out the necessary paperwork to put Potter on probation. Now, all it would take to disown Potter would be three taps on the family ring he wore on his finger and a voice-activated command. Best of all, both Potter and Dumbledore would be none the wiser for any of his or their changed statuses ― Potter because head of houses had the right to keep probations a secret as so to be able to observe the subject without fear of irregular behaviour and Dumbledore because his high-and-mighty behaviour towards magical creatures had done him no favors in gaining their support and lost him any chance of spreading his influence into Gringotts.

            Harry smirked as he strode out of Gringotts, family ring invisible on his finger and invisibility cloak over his head. Things were finally going his way for once. He couldn't wait until his next scheme bore fruit.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Do you think I should make Harry go to another school? Because honestly, what idiot would stay at a school with sub-par teachers and subjects? Snape, Binns, Trelawney, Hagrid ― he never finished his education and has no sense of proper topics so he counts as sub-par ― are all horrible teachers. And at least three ― I count DADA because of the constantly shifting teachers, many of whom are incompetent (I mean, if there's a curse that prevents the teachers from staying more than a year in a row, why not just hire two or three of them and rotate every year?) ― out of the seven core subjects have bad teachers, Astronomy is essentially useless (or, at least, they never really seem to have any purpose in canon), and three ― Divination, CoMC, and Muggle Studies (it's useless, I believe, if people like Arthur Weasley, who have taken it, are still saying 'fellytone' and 'eclectic'. That and because it's taught by a pureblood, Charity Burbage, who likely has never actually experienced Muggle life. I could be wrong.) ― out of the five electives are either useless or badly taught. In my opinion, Hogwarts is a terrible school. Not to mention the rampant bullying and all the dangerous things and manipulations they run into over the years. A troll, a basilisk, a werewolf (with nobody making sure he was actually drinking his Wolfsbane), a mass murderer, a dragon... Do all of the characters in canon have a death wish or something? I would have been gone by second year. Hogwarts isn't the only magical school in the world.


	3. Chapter 3

Harry had a dilemma.

Said dilemma was could be summed up in one question: what was he going to do after he had been freed from the Dursleys?

He honestly wasn’t quite sure.

Getting away from the Dursleys (as well as making sure no one like the Dursleys would get their hands on him) had been his goal for almost fourteen years of his life. He had never really thought too much beyond that, which, he supposed, was why the Hat had allowed him into Ravenclaw instead of Slytherin in the first place ― Slytherins were ambitious, with have goals after goals, and then backup goals in case their who-knew-what-other-goals didn’t work out, while Harry just decided on something he wanted and only planned up to that point.

He thought about it, even while he had been researching goblin treaties and Ministry bylaws and everything else that could potentially help or hinder his emancipation.

He considered transferring to another school, perhaps Mahoutokoro in Japan ― their curriculum sounded fascinating, as Asian wizards seemed to specialize in more artistic ways of magic-channelling, using amulets, jewelry, tattoos, and the like to channel their magic instead of just the typical European method of using a wand.

That had been the most appealing option. The only thing that held him back from mailing the school immediately was Luna.

Harry gnashed his teeth together, even as his thoughts drifted towards his best ― his only ― friend.

It wasn’t that she was refusing to let him go. The opposite, truthfully, she was all but pushing him to owl them, in her own dreamy way.

“You really should go, Harry,” she had said, peering up at him with large, grey eyes. “You can help me find the tsu-ki-no-wa-gu-ma!” She pronounced the syllables slowly and carefully, but butchered the language all the same. “The magical ones come from the moon, just like moon frogs do! I heard there are some in Japan right now...”

This was another reason he wasn’t in Slytherin, he supposed. They weren’t above sacrificing people to get what they wanted.

It didn’t change the fact that he wasn’t quite willing to leave her.

It wasn’t that Luna was unwilling to go with him either. She seemed raring to go in fact. (Last he had checked, she had somehow packed her trunk full of magical bear traps, soaked appropriately with juice from her father’s Dirigible Plums to keep away Nargles, as, apparently, tsukino waguma _hated_ Nargles.)

It was her father that was the problem, actually. He didn’t want to leave England ― something about his wife, her grave, and how he couldn’t just sell her house. (It was times like these that Harry wondered if he hadn’t gotten the better end of the deal after all ― at least he didn’t need to worry about his parents approving or disapproving of what he did.)

Harry couldn’t exactly use his Legilimency and change his mind either. Luna would disapprove, and she always knew, so he couldn’t hide it either ― he really hated her latent seer blood sometimes. Offing him definitely wasn’t an option ― though he wasn’t above torture, or outright ruining people, actual killing still made even his questionable sense of morality squirm uncomfortably, and doubly so if the person in question was his best friend’s father.

So, essentially, he was trapped. He couldn’t confront Dumbledore on his own home turf ― not outright, at least, the man’s influence in Britain was _staggering_ ― and he couldn’t abandon Luna either ― the girl was a veritable bully magnet, and who knew what would happen to her if he left her?

Harry sighed, doodling absently on a scrap of parchment, half an ear still listening valiantly to Professor Binns’ monotonous lecture on the goblin wars.

Sometimes, he thought, all of this I-will-control-my-own-life-so-screw-Dumbledore business was a lot more work than it was worth.

The bell rang, and he stuffed his parchment and quill into his bag before leaving for the library.

It probably wouldn’t be too good to get ahead of himself anyway, he decided, making a beeline for Luna, who was seated at a far, out-of-the way table near the corner of the library. After all, his emancipation wasn’t foolproof yet. He’d worry about his future goals after he accomplished his first one.

* * *

It took another three weeks, after extensive research into the goblin treaties and several more trips to Gringotts to tie up some loose ends: namely arranging so that he wouldn’t be forced to fill the Potter seats on the Wizengamot until he turned seventeen and that no proxy would be able to be appointed until he allowed it ― thus preventing Black and Dumbledore from taking advantage of his (or Potter’s, as Dumbledore seemed to be under the impression that Potter was inheriting the Potter lordship) youth ― , before Harry deemed his official emancipation about as foolproof as he could make it.

The first thing Harry had done after that was to sneak out to the muggle world.

Once upon a time, back when he had only been entering primary, he had considered emancipation in the muggle world as well. He had been smart and disillusioned with the world ― he had known perfectly well that there wasn’t going to be some mysterious relative that would whisk him away from the Dursleys.

So, like he had upon entering the magical world, he had researched options extensively, trying to see if there was any way he wouldn’t need to wait until he was sixteen ― the minimum age for emancipation in the muggle world. But the only alternatives he had found consisted of being tossed to an orphanage or foster home after getting the Dursleys arrested for child abuse, and he was loath to do that. (Because no matter how much he read and researched, orphanages and foster homes were still a scary unknown, and the Dursleys’ stories certainly hadn’t helped.)

So it wasn’t until he was eight and had suffered a particularly bad beating that had ripped his back to bloody shreds before being tossed into the cupboard for a week with only whatever food and water he had managed to save from previous meals that he had finally thrown caution to the winds and gone to a police officer.

All had gone according to plan (whatever half-baked plan he had concocted in the midst of his raging fever and parched delusions in any case) ― police and social workers had swarmed Privet Drive, the Dursleys’ reputation had been ripped to shreds (much like his back, he had thought in grim humor), and Harry had been taken away and given medical care and his first real meal since his parents had died (even if it had been a rather small portion because of his malnutrition) ― until a white-bearded old man ― he hadn’t known who he was at the time ― had turned up on scene and promptly started doing magicking everything back to how it had been before Harry had gone to the police, erasing everyone’s memories ― including Harry’s ― and putting Harry right back in his cupboard. Literally.

Thinking back, that had probably when he had developed his immense dislike of Albus Dumbledore. Or, perhaps more accurately, when Harry’s magic had broken the memory charm and he actually remembered Dumbledore. Which had taken a whopping two months.

It actually hadn’t been too hard to sense something wrong with his memory. He had woken up the morning after his unremembered failure and spent the entire day with a nagging feeling of something _off_. It had taken him two weeks to procure proper books on meditation and another two weeks to manage some semblance of actual delving into his own mind. And after that, it had been fairly easy to pick out what was wrong, seeing as Harry’s entire mental world spoke in Parseltongue, his first language. The spell Dumbledore had used modified memories the way Dumbledore wanted it to, which meant the memory was in English since Dumbledore didn’t speak Parseltongue. And it certainly helped that Dumbledore hadn’t dared use a too powerful a charm on a child.

Harry, immediately after breaking the charm (which had, unfortunately, been much harder than just finding out what was wrong ― even with the fairly simple charm Dumbledore had used, he wasn’t the most powerful wizard of their age for nothing) and cataloging every detail of the man he could recall ― taking a particular interest in the odd prickling sensation in his mind when the man’s eyes had met his ― , had set about finding a method so that such a thing would never be able to happen again. After much theorizing and paying extra care to everything he did, as so not to attract the man’s attention again before he was ready, he had decided that the best way to throw the man off was to construct a decoy in his mind, in English, for the man to modify.

It had been a long and gruelling process, helped immensely by his inability to sleep properly. His second test, set after a particularly bad beating, had happened before he had been completely ready and had been more of a result of irrational, pain-induced fear and anger fuelling his actions than actual planning. He had been nearly ten at the time.

The impromptu attempt had gone about the same way as the first, except for memory wipe on Harry. Several of his more flimsy bookcases in his mental decoy library had collapsed under the spell, but Dumbledore didn’t seem to suspect a thing, and for that, Harry had breathed a sigh of relief.

But after he had rebuilt and reinforced his decoy as well as buried his true mind deep underneath it, inside his magic and launched his third attempt, Dumbledore seemed to have lost patience with his shenanigans. He hadn’t done anything drastic ― hadn’t torn his mind apart or cursed him. Instead, in a true Dumbledore fashion, he had left a trap, a little something in case Harry felt like trying again.

It had almost worked too. The compulsion, buried inside the most recent decoy memory of a policewoman talking to him, had very nearly ensnared him when he had gone to investigate how his decoy world had held up against Dumbledore’s spell. It was still in English though, and that had been what saved him. But after that he had decided it would likely be best to err on the side of caution and hadn’t tried anything in the muggle world since. (Especially not after he had entered Hogwarts and discovered just who Dumbledore was. There was no need to give the meddling goat a reason to keep a closer eye on him than he was already.)

Despite all of the failures he had suffered in the muggle world, he wasn’t fool enough to just discard all of the advantages he could gain by using it like so many other muggleborns and half-bloods seemed to do upon entering Hogwarts. Quite the opposite in fact ― he intended to milk the muggle world for all its worth. Even Dumbledore, avid muggle lover though he might be, wouldn’t be able to beat his own knowledge of the inner workings of the darker side of the muggle world.

Which led him to what he was doing now ― a precursor to the final stage of his plan to escape the Dursleys.

“Lumos,” Harry whispered in the empty lot he had snuck off to, and his wand lit up. He waited ten minutes before smiling smugly. No ministry owls bearing news of suspension or expulsion (not that he would have been in any case. Even had the owl come, he would have made the argument that he had been in Hogwarts with Luna the whole time, like he was supposed to be, and it must have been a malfunction on their instruments’ part. Dumbledore would, no doubt, back him up ― if only because having the brother of his precious Boy-Who-Lived suspended or expelled was bad press). The Trace on his wand was well and truly gone.

That confirmed, his next stop held far less innocuous intentions.

_Number Four, Privet Drive._

Harry stared up at the dull sign proclaiming the location of the worst memories of his life and smiled wryly to himself.

The lawn and paint were as impeccable as he had left it. He ghosted though the front door, unseen, with a simple Alohomora.

His timing was perfect. All three Dursleys were sitting at the dining table, Dudley obviously boasting of some achievement he had accomplished earlier in the week at Smeltings.

“Hello,” he greeted them. He wasn’t disappointed.

“You!” Petunia screeched.

“Me,” he agreed.

“What are you doing here boy?” Vernon spat. “Didn’t you say you would never come back if we signed that ruddy paper?”

“I did, didn’t I?” Harry said coolly. “You can thank Albus Dumbledore for my presence then. He cancelled my emancipation.” The Dursleys all looked suitably horrified. Harry allowed a cold, thin smile to grace his lips. “Of course, I have my ways around that.” He slipped his wand out of his arm holster and pointed it at them. He couldn’t quite suppress his satisfaction as all three flinched back.

“You put that-” Vernon began, face reddening dangerously.

“Petrificus totalus tria.” He intoned, cutting off Vernon’s sentence and freezing all three Dursleys in place. He stepped delicately up to the petrified Vernon, smiling benignly at his furious gaze. “We’ll start with you then.” He said, pointing his wand at Vernon’s forehead and picturing a snake. _“Legilimens,”_ he hissed.

* * *

A few hours later, a satisfied Harry left Number Four, Privet Drive, exhausted, but pleased with his work. Taking a moment to check for any curious eyes, he quickly changed his appearance, making himself taller, his glasses invisible, glamouring his scar, and tying his longer, now-blond hair into a ponytail. Then he boarded the Knight Bus.

“Hogsmeade, please,” He told the conductor, before lying down on one of the beds.

His trip to the Dursleys had gone as well as he had planned. He hadn’t killed them or even tortured them a little ― as much as he would have liked to, it would leave traces, and no doubt set off wards. So instead, he had planted fake memories and triggers in each of their minds which would compel them to tell anyone who asked for Harry during summer vacation that he was “out at the moment” or “at a sleepover at one of his friends’ home” depending on how fast he would be able to respond. Then he had set the triggers to send him a mental signal whenever it was tripped.

It had been harder than expected, much harder than it had been with the animals he had been practicing on since he had bought the Occlumency book on his first trip to Diagon Alley. Though, to be fair, animal minds and human minds were quite different. He suspected that if it weren’t for the fact that the Dursleys were muggles and rather dumb to boot, he wouldn’t have been able to finish all of their mind alterations in one visit. (It _was_ rather hard and complicated to plant triggers, make sure they were buried in sure a way that they couldn’t be taken out or even noticed by another Legilimens, set decoy memories in case someone read their mind, and then cast a carefully controlled Obliviate to remove all traces of his visit.)

He was lucky that the Potters were a rather powerful magical family, and he and Potter especially so due to their mother’s muggleborn status, which was the only reason he hadn’t already collapsed from magical exhaustion. He was even luckier that he was a Parselmouth (which Potter wasn’t, as the boy had never reacted shown any indication of such an ability when the basilisk was hissing in the walls or when Malfoy had set a snake on Potter in Lockhart’s pathetic Duelling Club) and that spells said in Parseltongue were very different from ordinary spells ― more powerful for one ― as Parseltongue was a magical language restricted to a select few.

It was well worth it though, even if those facts had been a pain to figure out. Dumbledore wouldn’t be able to detect the trigger, much less break it. The entire thing was buried in hissing of the memory of the escaped python from the zoo. Unless he knew parseltongue, he would never even know there was a trigger. Now, even if Dumbledore came to Dursley house to check on him, Harry would be able to get back and dissuade his fears of having run away or something of the sort by having the Dursleys make his excuses and alerting him of the situation. He would never know that Harry was no longer living at the Dursleys.

Harry resisted the uncharacteristic urge to cackle. It wouldn’t do to scare the other passengers on the Bus.

“Good job,” Luna told him simply after he dragged himself back to Hogwarts through one of his various secret passages.

Harry could only smile tiredly as she helped him up to the Ravenclaw Tower.

* * *

Of course, his good mood couldn’t last.

“The Nargles keep looking over here, Harry.” Luna informed him solemnly as they studied at their usual table in the library the next day.

“I know,” He said, idly flipping a page. She peered at him over her textbook.

“You’re not going to drive them away? They could infest the mistletoes you know.” Harry’s lips twitched into a light smirk.

“It’s alright. I always have my butterbeer corks on me.” Luna hummed absently, going back to her book. Harry surreptitiously glanced over at the source of the gaze that had been focused on him for the better part of an hour.

A few tables over, a bushy-haired girl scowled balefully down at her book. The redhead beside her was completely ignoring his own book in favor of glancing repeatedly at the blonde and black haired duo. The other redhead was nowhere to be found. Harry hid a smirk.

The Idiot Trio was in shambles. Weasley had split off from them, jealous of Potter’s supposed entering the tournament without telling him, and was utterly ignoring Potter’s claims of innocence. Granger, unable to find any way to get Potter out of said tournament, was angry and frustrated that her precious library was letting her down for the first time, and the incessant muttering and insults from majority of the school certainly wasn’t helping. And Potter was completely useless, unsure of how to deal with such a large negative response to his selection, too impatient to study, and an all around sitting duck for whatever horror the judges had come up with for the first task.

Harry also found it quite amusing that Potter actually still seemed to expect him to help him, if the not-so-secret, desperate looks aimed their way were any indication.

“Do you have your corks ready?” Luna’s voice drifted over. “I do believe they’re coming this way.” Harry hummed in agreement.

“-am perfectly capable of doing the research on my own!” Granger hissed, trailing behind Potter like a rabid harpy. To his credit, Potter managed to ignore her, stopping in front of their table.

“Hey.” Potter stood there awkwardly, running a hand through his hair. Granger stood slightly behind him, her face stormy and mutinous.

Harry spared him no more attention than a slightly raised eyebrow. He knew what Potter wanted to ask, but Potter didn’t know that. It was fun to watch him squirm.

“Erm,” Potter stammered. “I- uh- What I mean is, I need-” Granger groaned almost inaudibly, elbowing Potter sharply, before grabbing his ear and yanking him down to her level.

“Hey! Ow!” Potter hissed. “‘Mione!” Harry’s respect for Granger rose a little higher than than the negatives it had been previously.

“Don’t order people around like that when you’re asking for help!” She hissed in his ear.

Pathetic, really. The boy was so horrible at asking for help that it was sad. Harry knew that usually Potter just received, whether he needed or wanted it or not. He was the so-called Boy-Who-Lived after all. It was unfortunate that the title was absolutely meaningless to Harry.

...Actually, everything about Potter was meaningless to him at this point. He wasn’t planning to help him even if the moron got down on his knees and _begged_. Assuming he even got the words out.

Potter cleared his throat awkwardly, after much glaring from Granger. “I wanted to ask if you could, um, you know, help me with the tournament?” The answer was swift and immediate.

“No.”

Potter gaped at him in an unsightly manner. Harry suspected that the boy had never been refused in his life.

“But-”

“No.” Harry cut him off flatly, turning back to his book.

“How dare you!” Granger blustered, stepping forward for the first time. “How can you just say ‘no’? Don’t you care if he dies? He’s your brother!”

Harry raised an eyebrow at her. “Frankly, Granger, I consider the Giant Squid more of a brother than that breathing scumbag,” he said coolly. “I just happen to be unfortunate enough to share a surname and biological parents with it. If something stops that piece of pond scum from defiling the planet, well,” he directed a Snape-worthy sneer at the white-faced boy. “Good riddance.” Granger looked outraged.

“But he’s the Hogwarts champion! And the Boy-Who-Lived!”

Harry curled his lip in disdain, his respect for Granger dropping again with her idiotic arguments. No wonder Snape couldn’t stand the Idiot Trio, with their stuck-up self-righteousness. “As far as I am concerned, Cedric Diggory is the true Hogwarts champion, and I have no intention of helping some attention-seeking brat who enjoys coasting through life on his fame beat him.” Not that that was the real reason he was refusing to help him, but they didn’t need to know that. He could already feel his mood darkening with every word Granger spewed.

“He’s not-” Granger began hotly.

“I’ve never seen such a large infestation of Wrackspurts before!” Luna chose this moment to interrupt in astonishment, peering at Granger closely through the large, colorful pair of Spectrespecs she had produced sometime during the conversation. Harry inwardly thanked her for her timely intervention.

“I- what?” Granger asked in bewilderment, lecture derailed.

“Wrackspurts,” Luna repeated, adjusting her Spectrespecs with her hand and looking very much like a demented owl. “They make your head go all fuzzy.” Granger floundered, evidently unsure if she was being insulted or not.

Luna smiled sympathetically. “It’s all right. You can get rid of them by doing this!" She made some sort of odd flapping-shooing motion around Granger’s head before Granger slapped her hands away, flustered. Luna retreated, clicking her tongue, reproachfully. “The infestation must be more severe than I thought...”

“None of the books I've read have ever mentioned that sort of creature,” Granger argued, apparently choosing to take offense to being called infested.

“Wrackspurts are invisible,” Luna explained serenely. “So many people choose not to see them.” Granger spluttered.

"There’s no such thing as a Wrackspurt!”

“Just because you can’t see them doesn’t mean they’re any less real than you are,” Luna countered dreamily. Granger spluttered again before turning to Harry for support.

“You can’t see Thestrals either, but you believe in those don’t you?” Harry told her unhelpfully, mood lightening again as Granger’s face reddened. Potter just stood to the side, looking somewhat lost.

“Yes but-”

“You’re so narrow-minded that a Nargle could be standing right next to you and you'd never notice,” Harry informed her, a pinch of spite entering his voice. “So it’s no wonder you can’t see the Wrackspurts.”

There was a slight pause as Potter now looked to be seriously questioning their sanity while Granger seemed conflicted as to whether she should be deny being narrow-minded or confused at the introduction of another new creature.

“You have a lot of Wrackspurts,” Luna said before she could decide.

“Er...right.” Potter said weakly, tugging at Granger’s arm, eying the two of them strangely. “We’ll...just be going now I guess.”

“Try not to attract anything else,” Luna told them. They nodded, hastily making their escape.

Luna turned back to him after the two had scurried out of the library.

“Usually,” Luna informed him. “Dirigible plums are a far better deterrent for these types of Nargles than butterbeer corks.”

Harry nodded in agreement. “So they are.”

* * *

But that wasn’t the last of Potter’s attempts. Far from it actually. Harry had to give him props ― the boy could be annoyingly persistent when he wanted to be. It was probably the only trait Harry shared with him.

But that didn’t change the fact that Harry was quickly reaching the end of his tether. It didn’t help that Potter chose to pester him when Luna wasn’t around either, having apparently decided that Luna had been the source of his madness (which was sort of true). “Dirigible Plums” ― the best Nargle deterrent tactic Harry could access thus far ― didn’t work without Luna and her dottiness, and Butterbeer Corks, as Luna had named his preferred method of driving off “nargles” via harsh words and cold shoulders (like taking out a cork and spraying cold butterbeer over a person, she had said whimsically) was becoming more ineffective by the day. That didn’t mean he wasn’t going to try though.

“Hey! Harry! Will you-”

“No. And I never gave you permission to use my given name, _Potter_.”

Potter didn’t seem in the least deterred by Harry’s icy tone, continuing obliviously. “Can you help me with the tournament?” Harry didn’t bother replying, striding down the hall to Transfiguration.

“Come on!” Potter whined. “Why won’t you help me?” Harry ignored him. “I can pay you! Or give you books! I bet my family vault-”

“No.” Harry kept his frigid tone carefully free of his inner feelings, even as he slammed the door in Potter’s face and took his customary seat in the back of the class, inwardly thankful that at least Potter didn’t seem willing to follow him into the classroom ― even if it was empty at the moment ― as he wasn’t quite sure if he would have been able to refrain from cursing him if he had.

 _His_ family vault? Who did Potter think he was? That stuck-up arrogant little toerag, Harry seethed in his mind. Using _his own birthright_ to bribe him? He didn’t even think disownment would be a suitable punishment anymore. _Disembowelment_ was seeming like a more appealing option by the day, consequences be damned.

Harry took a deep breath, clamping down on the magic that was threatening to burst out inside of him and made sure his face was as carefully blank as usual as the rest of his class arrived, chattering loudly and ruining the previous quiet of the classroom.

As Professor McGonagall swept in, an idle thought surfaced in his mind, and he smiled in his mind, dark and sly.

Disownment was too good for that bumbling pest. Disembowelment was, sadly, not legal, and he had no way of pulling that off unnoticed (yet). So until he could arrange for some more fitting punishment ― well, some petty revenge couldn’t hurt could it?

Harry grinned to himself a touch sadistically. It looked like he had a new goal now ― to make Danny Potter’s life absolutely _miserable_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> People have been asking, so I’ll clarify why Sirius doesn’t remember Harry. Sirius isn’t the most responsible of adults, even in canon. I’m fairly certain I can say that he’s not all that sane either (innocent or not, Dementors still wreak havoc on your mind). He’s also a crap parent (allowing a child to trot back off to a home that’s already been established as abusive, especially after a series of severely traumatizing events, is not the mark of a good parent). Add that to the fact that Sirius is already established in canon as somewhat of an attention hound (pun intended), it really wouldn't be too far of a stretch to believe, for me at least, that he would begin favoring one, more famous, twin over the other (especially after that twin “saved” him), and the other, quieter one would just slip his mind. Of course, the fact that Harry confronts him after his trial, when he is still high on shock, relief, and giddiness, and is basically very distracted doesn’t help. With such a bad combination of traits and events, I think forgetting Harry is perfectly understandable, and what with his deteriorated mental state, not too unlikely either. That being said, I have considered some of your suggestions, but I think I’ll have to see how I want the story to go before deciding where Sirius (and Remus) stand.  
> Suggestions for the “petty revenge” are welcome.


	4. Discontinuation Notice and Snippets

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, first things first, as of now, this story is officially DISCONTINUED. If anyone wants to make an adaption for it or something, they're welcome to, as long as they PM me first and don't copy my stuff. I originally wrote this because I wanted to try out the twin-trope, failed miserably, and ended up writing the first chapter of this and posting it out of sheer frustration. I did not expect people to like it and I did not expect to continue it for as long as I did (which wasn't that long, but whatever). I ended up bashing pretty much everyone out of annoyance too, even the characters I actually like. Anyway, I'm sorry for the people that loved this story, but this story has always annoyed me and I never quite understood why it was my most popular story. Now, since this is discontinued, I've put everything I wrote for this fic below. Enjoy.

**The beginning of Chapter 4**

"The Nargle looks like the Aquavirius Maggots had gotten to it lately."

Harry turned to smile fondly down at Luna, slowing his steps so that she could walk beside him without struggling to keep pace. "Yes, he does, doesn't he?" Harry replied, trying and failing not to look pleased as one Danny Potter scurried past them, face pale, hair disheveled, and glancing around every few seconds. As Harry watched, the boy flinched, head turning sharply to the left, as if he had seen something out of the corner of his eye. A girl standing to Potter's left gave him a glare, and Potter hurried back on his path towards the Great Hall, shoulders hunching in more and more as he peered continuously over his shoulder.

All in all, Harry thought the first phase of his project was coming along splendidly.

"Danny!" A bushy haired girl rushed past Harry, nearly knocking Luna over in her haste. "I think I've got it!"

Harry growled near inaudibly, glaring at Granger's retreating back as he steadied Luna with a firm hand.

"I think I'll add her to my list of victims," he murmured, low enough that only Luna would be able to hear him. She smiled up at him dreamily.

"There's really no need for that. She'll work herself to tears quite well enough by herself." Up ahead, Potter jumped as Granger nearly tackled him in her excitement, spinning around and shouting at her angrily. Granger withdrew slightly, looking hurt.

"Yes," Harry agreed. "But there's no reason why I shouldn't help her along."

Luna didn't say anything to that, instead choosing to wait until they were both seated comfortably at the end of the Ravenclaw table before she spoke again.

"I think you should try marauding," she said casually, reaching for the salad.

"Mar- ...You mean...pranks?" Harry asked. She nodded solemnly.

"I've always wanted to know whether the Nargle really has Gumples in its undergarments."

"Well, I suppose we could find out," he agreed, smothering a laugh. It wasn't like adding pranks to his project would be a lot of work. After all, he was only two weeks into his first phase: messing with Potter's mental stability. Pranks could easily be incorporated into his next phase: ruining Potter's relationships, namely, by messing with Potter's possessions. He was looking forward to that one actually. Peeves would be blamed for some of the missing possessions of course, but majority of the sabotaged items would be blamed on Potter himself, for his forgetfulness and idiocy or put down as pure misfortune. Potter would no doubt snap and snarl at his friends in response to such allegations, and Harry would hardly even have to lift a finger.

Now as for Granger... Well, he couldn't have her hearing voices or seeing shadows like Potter was currently ― allowing a victim to have someone to share their burden with would destroy all of his hard work! Several of the acts of sabotage he was planning for Potter would work for her, but no one could ever accuse Granger of forgetfulness or carelessness, and misfortune only went so far, so that would have to be a temporary punishment. But pranks...Harry's mouth curled up in a malicious smirk. He had the _perfect_ spell for her.

"Tomorrow should be fun," he commented offhandedly to Luna.

"How so?"

Harry hummed distractedly, thinking of what he would have to do to pull this off. A distraction first, definitely. "Oh, nothing. Just double Potions tomorrow. I'll have to remember to give you the memories."

"There's no need for that," Luna smiled. "I'll be able to see the fruits of your first maraud myself." And she skipped out the door before Harry could say anything more.

Perturbed, Harry quickly finished up his lunch and swept out of the Great Hall. He had some research to do before his next class. He'd worry about what Luna said later.

* * *

**One of the pranks I had planned.**

"POTTER!" Over at a table decked in red and gold, a red-headed boy jumped, spinning around. The students trickling in for lunch halted, falling silent as they watched the unfolding spectacle.

"Yes professor?"

A table over, Harry straightened.

"Well, it seems the fireworks were set off a bit earlier than expected," He murmured to Luna, sitting beside him.

Professor Snape scowled menacingly, looming over Potter like a vampire would its prey. " _What,_ do you suppose this is?" He inquired forebodingly, waving a piece of parchment in front of Potter's face. Potter went cross-eyed trying to read it.

"Um...my...Potions essay?"

" _Precisely,_ Potter. Now tell me, what did I assign the essay on?"

"Uh...moonstones?"

"Correct. I am pleased to see that you _do_ use those cauliflowers attached to your head as something other than decoration." Snape said silkily. "Now tell me, what did _you_ write your essay on?"

"Uh...moonstones?"

" _In_ correct, Potter. Perhaps you would like me to refresh your memory." With a flourish, Snape began to read. " _I've never really realized it before, but there's this girl in Ravenclaw, Cho Chang, that's really really pretty."_ Here, Snape paused and gave Potter a nasty smirk. Harry admired the beautiful shade of red that Potter was flushing. "As fascinated as we are in your infatuation, Potter, I would kindly advise keeping them out of your essays." The Slytherins in the crowd snickered.

"I didn't-"

" _She made my stomach feel all funny when I met her in the Ravenclaw and Gryffindor Quidditch match last year ..."_ Snape read on, cutting off Potter's protests with an unpleasant smile.

What followed was _brutal_ , and Harry could only marvel at the beauty of it. Snape paused after every sentence to allow his Slytherins, who were hanging onto every word, to laugh and jeer. As Harry watched in concealed delight, Potter slumped lower and lower in his seat, until all one could see of him were his flaming red hair and the very tips of his matching, red ears.

This was working out better than he had planned it to be ― he had merely performed a switching spell on the contents of Potter's diary and his Potions essay. He hadn't actually expected Potter to have been rambling about Chang enough in his diary to actually fill up the entire assigned twelve inches. Best of all, Chang looked more disturbed than charmed by the fumbling compliments to her beauty ― probably because Potter had included a lot of information that Harry wasn't quite sure he wanted to know how Potter knew.

" _...wonder if she'll say yes if I asked her out._ " Snape sneered, rolling the parchment up to the catcalls of the Slytherins. Up at the Head Table, even McGonagall looked faintly disturbed, and Dumbledore had, conveniently, not yet arrived, which Harry suspected was precisely why Snape had chosen to confront Potter in the Great Hall instead of during Potions, as Harry had originally expected.

"As much as we all _appreciate_ being enlightened about your love life, Potter, I do believe that would be something to discuss with Chang herself, rather than me, through your moonstones essay." Snape said silkily. "Detention, with me, for a week, beginning tonight."

Potter sat up in indignation. "But- Quidditch practice!" He protested and Harry had to fight hard to keep a laugh from breaking out. Was Potter _actually_ trying to dig his grave _deeper?_ "There's a match on Saturday!"

Snape's lip curled up into a deep sneer. "Well, perhaps you should have thought of that before spilling your worthless drivel over the contents of what was supposed to be your already abysmal essay. Another detention, for talking back to a teacher. I expect to see you tonight Mr Potter." With a dramatic billow of his robes, Snape stalked to the Head Table and took his seat, just in time for Dumbledore to walk in, twinkling obliviously.

Harry watched the beet redness of Potter's face slowly purple as Snape's words sank through his thick head. Chang's disgusted and shaken countenance, her friends' furious glares, and Diggory's thinning lips and narrowed eyes were only icing on the cake ― after all, having more irate people after Potter would only make his job easier. Harry saw Snape send a condescending smirk down at the now-puce Potter, and that was apparently the last straw.

"YOU LOUSY OLD BAT!" Potter exploded, temper finally getting the best of him, jumping to his feet and actually going for his wand. "YOU'RE ALL OUT TO GET ME! YOU BLOODY-"

"Today is going to be a lovely day," Harry commented idly, almost unheard underneath Potter's screaming breakdown.

"A lovely day," Luna echoed, turning back to her food.

Harry frowned down at her, brows creasing. She sounded the same as always, whimsical and airy, but-

But that tiny, telling, upward curve of her mouth was missing, a detail so miniscule none other would be able to tell the difference.

"What's wrong?" Harry asked under his breath. Luna glanced up at him with solemn gray eyes.

"Tread carefully, Harry. The Wrackspurts are always waiting. And the Blibbering Humdinger is _always_ watching."

Harry eyed her out of the corner of his eye as he pretended to watch the spectacle of Potter being dragged out of the Hall. The hairs on the back of his head prickled as he became aware of a light, blue gaze sweeping the Hall, lingering ever so slightly on him.

Luna was right. It wouldn't hurt to be a little more careful from now on.

* * *

**How Luna and Harry met**

"I should have known I would attract Nargles without my Dirigible Plums-" A young, blonde girl was saying to herself fretfully, huddled atop a very high bookshelf. Harry stopped and blinked slowly at the girl.

"Um." He said intelligently. The girl did not look up ― or down, as the case may be.

"Ignore her," A girl ― Cho Chang, if he remembered correctly ― said as she walked by. "That's Loony Lovegood. She's probably up to something loony again." The gaggle of girls around her giggled as they swept by, heading to the Great Hall for lunch. Harry stayed, rooted in spot.

"Hey," he tried again hesitantly. "You should come down from there. You might hurt yourself." The girl looked up at last, blinking owlishly.

"I can't," she said, quite seriously. "The Nargles might come back if I do."

"...Come again?"

"Nargles," she repeated obligingly. "They might come back if I come down. They stole my Dirigible Plums and my butterbeers corks aren't quite ready yet." Harry blinked, before deciding just to latch on to the only thing he had understood.

"Someone stole your stuff?"

"Yes," she nodded sadly. "My Dirigible Plums. I made earrings."

"Okay... Have you reported it to Professor Flitwick?" He didn't know if the professor would actually do anything about it, but he made a good show of caring about them and likely would, at the very least, be willing to levitate the girl off the bookshelf before she fell. "He should be at lunch right now, so we can just go down and tell him right now.".

"No," she said. "I can't go down to the Great Hall without my Dirigible Plums. The Nargles will be there."

"What?"

"They were heading there just now." She pointed at the door through which Cho Chang and her posse had just left.

"Nargles- Oh," Harry said, blinking as realization dawned in his eyes. "You mean, bullies?"

Luna hummed thoughtfully. "Yes, Nargles. Terrible mischief makers, they are." Harry grinned in spite of himself.

"Well, how about this then:I'll protect you from them," Harry said. "I'm pretty good at protecting stuff" ― Nicholas Flamel could attest to that ― "and I'm not a bully- I mean, a Nargle, so I'm not going to hurt you either. And in return, you come down before you break your neck." Large, protuberant, grey eyes blinked down at him solemnly, as if assessing his worth.

"...You promise?"

Harry grinned. "Yeah, I promise."

"Okay then." And she lept off the bookshelf.

Harry's eyes widened in panic. He barely had time to think _ohshiteshe'sgoingtodie_ before she was landing, completely unharmed, and turning expectant eyes towards Harry.

"Bloody hell," Harry said weakly. She tilted a head inquisitively, looking for all the world like she had no idea why Harry was so flabbergasted. Harry shook his head, sighing. He had a feeling that he had just made a very odd acquaintance.

"I'm Luna Lovegood," the girl said with a dreamy, knowing smile. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Harry Potter."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> THIS STORY IS DISCONTINUED

**Author's Note:**

> Please leave a comment!


End file.
